


salvation lies within you

by likeiambreathing



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, mentions of Jehan/Courfeyrac
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 11:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1106236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeiambreathing/pseuds/likeiambreathing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revelations are made at a boxing day/christmas party with a little help from Courfeyrac and Eponine. Sequined santa hats are worn, drinks are consumed, and Enjolras and Grantaire are seemingly hopeless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	salvation lies within you

Courfeyrac, because well, he’s Courfeyrac, decided having a boxing day party would be much better than a Christmas party this year, and everyone went along with it because if you judged his idea, you would be sitting there for thirty minutes while he explained to you why it’s a good idea even though a lot of his reasoning made zero sense.  
So no one questioned it, or at least, not until the actual party began.  
“Hey, Courf?” Grantaire was sprawled out on a chair in Combeferre and Enjolras’ apartment, paint caked on his clothes from a long day in art class.  
“Yeah?”  
“Did you plan the party today so that you could buy all our presents on sale this morning?” He’s not drunk yet but has already downed two -or maybe three- beers judging by the lazy grin on his face.  
When he catches Enjolras’ eye from across the room he winks, but that isn’t really saying anything. Enjolras feels his face heat up at said wink but hides it with one of his death stares, which Grantaire is accustomed too.  
Courfeyrac laughs but doesn’t argue Grantaire’s point, instead leaping on top of him. Grantaire groans at the sudden weight, muttering something about Courf needing to eat a few less pastries while laughing, and Enjolras finds a fond smile forming on his lips.  
Grantaire may be a pain in the ass, but Enjolras couldn’t imagine hating him. Sure, when they first met, he wasn’t exactly pleased with him, but he’d never hated Grantaire.  
One day back in their first year of college, a little over a year ago, Eponine had marched into their annual meeting twenty minutes late. Enjolras was about to make a comment about Eponine’s lateness, but then noticed the dark-haired guy whose arm she had looped through hers.  
The very first time Grantaire ever looked at him, Enjolras felt extraordinarily aware of himself. How chilly the room was, the scratchy fabric of the scarf Jehan had wrapped around his neck, the uncomfortable wooden chair he was sitting on.  
Grantaire had looked up, a green beanie shoved over his insane hair, slight stubble on his chin and a wicked gleam in his eyes, and Enjolras nearly gaped.  
It wasn’t that he didn’t have a sex drive, no matter how often his friends teased that he didn’t, he just hadn’t been that interested in sex before. There were more important things, right?  
But that day was the day Enjolras understood why his friends were always so astounded by his lack of, erm, activity.  
That is, until they actually began their meeting and Grantaire continuously challenged Enjolras’ points in a manner that was so irritating he kicked Grantaire out of the room. The smirk lining his face haunted Enjolras’ mind for ages.  
So, yes, saying that he hated Grantaire was pretty inaccurate.  
He was taken out of his thoughts by Combeferre plopping down next to him and sending his glasses askew. With a sigh he fixed them, and then turned to Enjolras with a knowing look.  
“You’re doing it again.” He said, and Enjolras knew what he was talking about, but he’d be damned if he admitted it.  
“Doing what?” he asked in return.  
“Daydreaming about our sarcastic cynic.”  
He looked around quickly to make sure said person wasn’t within hearing distance, relaxing only when he heard Grantaire’s voice echoing from the kitchen with what sounded like Eponine. “I’m not daydreaming about him!”  
Combeferre snorted but let the topic drop, instead mentioning the recent project they’d been working on.  
With his attention focused on Combeferre, he didn’t notice Eponine’s burst of giggles and Grantaire anxiously shushing her from the kitchen.

-

Grantaire, after managing to shove Courfeyrac off, was sketching absently in the kitchen. Even though he’d just spent all day in art class, or maybe because of it, he still had a few ideas left in him for projects. Granted, they were projects that had been due for a few weeks, but still.  
He was drawing out some fucked up version of a nymph when fingers ruffled through his hair, accompanied by someone wrapping their arms around his neck.  
Without turning around he said, “Hey, Ep.”  
She glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t you just have studio time for, like, six hours?”  
“Four, actually.”  
“Well then.”  
She took the stool next to him, crossing one leg over the other.  
Eponine’s hair was hanging loose down her back, eyeliner applied carefully and skillfully on her eyelids, blood-red lipstick smeared on her lips. She was clad in a tight blue long sleeve, along with the short black skirt Grantaire had started calling the Marius Skirt, because she only ever wore it when she knew for a fact Marius would be there.  
They sat in easy silence as Grantaire sketched, laughter from the living room and distant music the only noise.  
Grantaire never felt fully comfortable at Enjolras and Combeferre’s place. It was clean and tidy, a spacious apartment with high ceilings and bookshelves covering a majority of the walls. He always felt out of place there, a little too dirty, a little too uncertain in this very certain home.  
And that’s what it was, really, a home. With books stacked high and flags and old movie posters hung up, it definitely gave off the home vibe, compared to Grantaire’s sad little apartment filled with sketchbooks flung everywhere, the scent of cigarette smoke always lingering.  
He didn’t realize what he was drawing until Eponine ripped the paper from his gasp, giggling loudly.  
Grantaire glanced at the paper now, finally paying attention to his work, and groaned.  
Another sketch of Enjolras to go in his pile of other pathetic Enjolras sketches.  
This one was of him sitting on the couch earlier, glaring at Grantaire.  
While a lot of people complimented Grantaire’s work, he knew that he didn’t quite capture Enjolras’ beauty and ferocity.  
He didn’t think he ever could.  
When he’d stamped out his cigarette on the ground and rang Enjolras’ doorbell earlier that night, he had another realization of how other-worldly Enjolras always was. Too beautiful, like a sculpture or painting or something that not even the greatest artists could capture. Grantaire often teasingly called him Apollo, but he was so much more than that.  
Anyways, that night, Enjolras had opened the door and Grantaire had immediately taken in his black skinny jeans and red dress shirt and mentally groaned because he was so fucking hot.  
God, Grantaire thought, I am truly pathetic.  
With that lovely thought still fresh in his mind, he reached for the drawing Eponine still held in her hands.  
“R, you’ve gotta tell him.” She said, raising a brow as if daring him.  
He sighed. “I can’t, Eponine.”  
“C’mon, man. It’s so obvious you two like each other. Might as well fuck him while he’s still young and wrinkle-free, right?”  
Grantaire nearly choked on his saliva while Eponine let out another loud burst of laughter.  
He wearily shushed her, reaching once more before giving up and allowing Eponine to keep it.  
He really needed a drink.

-

Courfeyrac, clad in a sequined Santa hat, walked around literally throwing presents at everyone.  
“Enjolraaaaaasss!” He drawled out, throwing a hot pink envelope in his direction and nearly taking out his eye.  
Courf was even drunker than Grantaire, which happened more than you might think.  
They were all sitting around the room. Well, all of them except for Joly and Bossuet, who were travelling around Europe for the holidays, much to Courfeyrac’s dismay.  
(“We’re a family!” he’d said, visibly pouting. “We’re supposed to celebrate Christmas together!”  
He hadn’t stopped pouting until Jehan had kissed his nose and promised to make scones for the party.)  
Courfeyrac passed out all the presents then squished back beside Jehan on the chair, playing with the poets loosely braided hair. Grantaire was sitting on the floor between Bahorel and Eponine, his arm slung around Eponine. Her attention, Enjolras noticed, was focused on Marius who sat on the floor across from them with his girlfriend Cosette, the beautiful blonde girl who’d won over everyone’s hearts with the first “Hello.”  
Combeferre, Feuilly and Enjolras all shared the couch.  
“Well,” Bahorel said from his spot, resting his pierced cheek on Grantaire’s shoulder, “Merry late Christmas everybody.”  
“And an early happy fucking new year!” Grantaire shouted, raising his beer to the laughter.  
Everyone began opening their gifts. Enjolras opened the envelope, expecting it to be a card, but instead pulled out a single sheet of paper with a doodle of Enjolras on it, and knew immediately that it was Grantaire’s sketch. He’d seen some of R’s work, but never a drawing of himself. Underneath the drawing were the words I DARE YOU, written in Courfeyrac’s swoopy and almost girly writing. He looked up to find Courfeyrac and Eponine both sporting matching cocked eyebrows, and he felt his face heat up. He turned to look at Grantaire unwrapping his gift from Eponine. He was tearing the paper carefully, folding it into a small square after like it was something precious and not cheap reindeer wrapping paper, then smiled down at the new sketchbook laying in his lap. Grantaire turned, sloppily kissing Eponine on the cheek. Glancing up, he caught Enjolras’ glance. Instead of looking away, Enjolras continued to stare back at Grantaire, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the faintest smudge of blue paint on his jaw. His faded skinny jeans and black hoodie, stained with paint.  
He imagined kissing the smudge of paint on Grantaire’s jaw, thought of how his calloused fingers would feel in his hair and thought of how he was utterly, completely fucked.  
I dare you, the note had said. Enjolras just had to decide if he had the nerves to take the dare.

-

Why was Enjolras staring at him that way?  
The thought echoed in Grantaire’s mind for the rest of the night, following him off the floor and over to the table where he and Bahorel played beer pong, into the bathroom where Eponine collapsed into the bathtub, completely drunk and ranting about Marius while Grantaire, being the protective best friend, wished Marius was more of an asshole and less of a generally nice guy so Grantaire could punch him and make up for his own lack of capability in helping his best friend in this situation.  
It plagued him while he drank and drank and drank until he found himself outside on the balcony –yes, that’s right, their apartment had a fucking balcony- with Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Feuilly, Courfeyrac’s sequin Santa hat on top of his head while they belted out the lyrics to Wrecking Ball while Feuilly urged them to go back inside or please, guys, sing a little quieter at least? until he gave up and went inside.  
At some point Grantaire found himself in the living room at two in the morning, hugging all his friends goodbye as they slowly left for their own various homes.  
Jehan and Courf were the last to go, Courfeyrac talking to Enjolras about something while wiggling his eyebrows every few seconds and making Enjolras' face go red.  
Jehan wrapped his skinny arms around Grantaire, standing on his tippy toes to whisper in his ear, “Combeferre’s staying at our place tonight due to Courfeyrac’s, um, insistence.”  
When he released Grantaire he smiled sweetly, grabbed his boyfriends hand and led him out the door, Combeferre following behind them.  
Music was still playing in the background, a familiar song that Grantaire thought he might know, so that’s what he focused on instead of the fact that he was alone in an apartment with Enjolras.  
Beautiful, terrifying, passionate Enjolras.  
Enjolras cleared his throat, but Grantaire still stared over at the stereo.  
“You can stay here if you want.” He said, sounding nervous, but Grantaire thought he must be drunker than he thought because Enjolras, who willingly stood in front of hundreds of people and declared his beliefs, did not get nervous.  
Grantaire looked up, though, and forced a smirk onto his face. “Are you sure, my dear?”  
Enjolras blushed, actually fucking blushed because of Grantaire without accompanying it with a glare, and said, “You’re too drunk to walk home, and I’m not risking driving you home in my car.”  
Grantaire laughed, but it came out awkwardly. “I only threw up in your car that one time.”  
“Twice.” He replied, raising an eyebrow.  
Enjolras threw a blanket and pillow onto the couch, which Grantaire gladly sank onto. It was 2:30 in the morning and he was exhausted.  
“Well, good night.” Enjolras said, a look of determined curiosity etched onto his face.  
“Night, Apollo.” He replied, grinning into the pillow when Enjolras let out a weary sigh at the nickname.  
The lights were shut off, followed by the noise of Enjolras shutting his bedroom door.  
Grantaire fell asleep inhaling the pillow that smelled like Enjolras, smiling to himself.

-

Enjolras woke up three hours later, glancing at the time and tried to fall back asleep. After twenty minutes of tossing and turning, he growled sleepily and got up, heading to the kitchen for some water.  
He quietly treaded through the silent apartment, past Grantaire sleeping on the couch, and turned on the faucet. He’d forgotten about the angry spluttering noises the faucet made when you first turned it on, cringing in the darkness and hoping he hadn’t woken up R.  
Draining the glass, he carefully set it back down and walked into the living room, heading back to his room and beloved bed.  
He didn’t make it that far, though, due to Grantaire sitting up from the couch, rubbing his eyes.  
“Enjolras?” He called out, yawning.  
Enjolras, not really thinking, walked over and sat on the end of the couch near Grantaire’s feet. “Yes?”  
“I woke up about an hour ago because something was stabbing me in the leg, and found this.” Grantaire held up a folded piece of paper, and due to his sleepy brain, it took Enjolras a moment for it to click in.  
And then it did.  
The I DARE YOU sketch.  
Enjolras felt his eyed widen, very much awake now, and snatched the folded paper.  
“I, uh, I saw you holding it earlier but I didn’t realize it was my sketch-”  
Enjolras inwardly cringed, waiting for Grantaire to ask him why the hell he had the sketch and what the message at the bottom meant.  
“I’m sorry about the sketch.” Grantaire finally said, sounding much more awake, and sober. “I know it probably looked strange, but uh, you’re just actually really attractive and, yeah, you probably know how I feel about you because I’m assuming the note in Courf’s writing meant something, so I’m just really sorry.”  
Enjolras didn’t know what to say. While their friends, Courfeyrac in particular, had teased about Grantaire’s “undying affection” for Enjolras, he always assumed it was a joke. Something to make him embarrassed or awkward or even a little bit shy.  
He stared back at the sad artist then, the guy who constantly challenged and fought him, and made his decision.  
Scooting forward, he pressed his lips against Grantaire’s, who still had an apologetic look on his face.  
Since Enjolras wasn’t exactly experienced in this, he waited for Grantaire to take control. Just when it seemed like Grantaire wasn’t going to kiss back and Enjolras should pull away, Grantaire was on Enjolras, moving their bodies so Grantaire was lying directly on top of him, kissing him hungrily and roughly, nibbling on Enjolras’ bottom lip, causing him to gasp and explore his mouth with his tongue.  
Enjolras tried to keep up, kissing back just as needily until Grantaire pulled back. He whined in protest.  
Grantaire moved down to his neck, licking and sucking down Enjolras’ throat and smiling against his skin. He worked his way into R’s dark curls, tugging sharply and causing a throaty groan from him that set all his nerves on edge.  
He felt everything, from Grantaire’s lips on his collarbones, gently pressing kisses here and there, to his bare legs, clad in boxers, against rough jeans, to the blanket shoved down near their feet.  
“I didn’t know. I can’t believe it. I didn’t fucking know.” Grantaire muttered, moving back up to Enjolras’ mouth much to his pleasure.  
Enjolras wanted to reply but couldn’t get the words out, instead kissing Grantaire hard enough that it left them both panting, foreheads touching and trying to catch their breath.  
“I didn’t know, either.” Enjolras said finally.  
Grantaire laughed, and it was the most beautiful noise in the world. “We’re both idiots.”  
He nodded, enjoying the feeling of Grantaire’s hair while he played with the curls. Feeling particularly daring, he leaned over, whispering close to Grantaire’s ear.  
“Tell me why you want me.”  
He wasn’t even sure why he was saying it, but he suddenly needed to know.  
Grantaire let out another throaty laugh, but this one sounded almost sad. “You know what you want and you go for it. You’re passionate. You love your friends more than anything, and you’re so fucking intense. One look and you could send almost anyone running. You hate coffee but always drink it before meetings, you’re beautiful to draw, and you’re kind, even to boys like me.” He kissed Enjolras’ forehead once before continuing, and Enjolras decided he could wait until later to discuss the boys like me comment. “You’re gorgeous, Enj. You really are, in your super tight skinny jeans and stupid fucking ties. I swear to god, artists all around the world would sign up to paint you, but I hope you won’t let them.”  
Enjolras felt the warm feeling that had been there since he sat down expand, spreading to the very tips of his fingers. “And why’s that?” he said, his voice so desperate and raw that he barely recognized it.  
“Because I’d rather be the only one allowed to paint you.”  
Enjolras kissed him hard, once more, and several times after that until exhaustion finally returned.  
They curled up around each other on the couch, Enjolras using Grantaire as a pillow more than the actual pillow itself.  
“I’d only want to be painted by you.” He mumbled sleepily, rewarded with a light kiss on the top of his head.

-

The next morning when Grantaire and Enjolras showed up at the meeting, they were holding hands in a way that made old married couples smile nostalgically – shyly, sneaking glances down every once in a while as if to make sure they weren’t dreaming.  
And when Courfeyrac and Eponine high-fived over the table, Grantaire and Enjolras blushed at the same time.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first (published) fic so everyone's probably wildly ooc i'm so sorry
> 
> {title's from salvation by carolina liar}


End file.
